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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959153">Beautiful Undone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber'>inber</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inber's Geralt x Jaskier x Reader Fanfiction [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare, Alternative Lifestyles, BDSM, Breast Fucking, Bruises, Collars, Come Marking, Come Shot, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, F/M, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Punishment, Spitroasting, Thighs, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Humiliation, Wet &amp; Messy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:41:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,236</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt and Jaskier have collared you, and you’re living under their dominion. When you’re naughty, you are corrected. This is a one-shot and it's just pure filth.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Inber's Geralt x Jaskier x Reader Fanfiction [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698223</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>110</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Beautiful Undone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier has always been very good with his hands.</p><p>He’s demonstrating this as he casually finger-fucks you, conversing with Geralt over your submissively nude body, secured in position for both men to use you as they see fit. Roach’s saddle has been borrowed for the evening, and it’s flung over two strong bed-boxes stacked atop one another. Your feet are bound to the stirrups, spread, and your hands are secured to your feet, leaving you in an obscene arch with the pornographic presentation of your cunt. The bard has been toying with you for the better part of half an hour, in a heated discussion with the Witcher over which route is best to take next.</p><p>You wish you could follow the conversation, but you cannot. Jaskier knows your body better than his lute, better than<em> any</em> instrument his talent has fallen upon; every time your walls begin to clench and flutter, he withdraws from you and leaves you teetering on the edge of orgasm, desperate, never allowing the much-needed electricity to envelop you like the whip of a hurricane. You are crying rivers of your own stickiness down the flesh of your thighs, rutting the air with a mournful whimper every time he abandons you, squeezing your pelvic floor. He knows you’re trying <em>every</em> trick you know to achieve release. It amuses him.</p><p>“You know why we’re doing this, darling heart.” He croons, stroking the curve of your ass as you’re once again denied, shuddering bodily in your bonds. The ropes are biting your skin but you don’t care; the saddle is slick with sweat and tears and come but you don’t care. Robbed of reason, you moan brokenly at him, trying to lift your head to plead with watery eyes. That never works with either of them.</p><p>“<em>Besides</em> the fact that you look so pretty like this, all trussed up like a present, little pet.” Geralt’s purr sweeps like velvet against your ears, and you shiver, your pussy throbbing.</p><p>“I was bad.” You pant, ready to admit this now, if it’ll get you what you want.</p><p>“<em>Were</em> you, now?” Jaskier hums, his fingers curving into your cunt and starting that damnable, delicious friction once more, now that you’ve calmed sufficiently. Eagerly, you rock against his hand as much as your bondage allows; again, he pulls away. “What did you do?”</p><p>Sniffling, you try and recall. You know you’re often a brat because it gets you into situations like <em>this</em>, or if you think you can get away with pushing the limits of your submission. Your masters are both relatively lenient; they insist upon your care, your hygiene, your rest and health. You are to wear a thin red collar around your neck at all times. You are not to wander off on your own in dangerous towns, or too far away from campsites. If they have given you a punishment, you are to bear it with grace and to completion.</p><p>In public, the three of you are partners of travel and convenience; Jaskier brings coin in, Geralt hunts and protects you all, and you heal both of them if they are in need of your skill, as well as manage domestic duties.</p><p>In private, however, things are <em>very</em> different.</p><p>You’d committed to being theirs to use long ago. In the hierarchy of your relationship, Geralt dominates – although Jaskier occasionally challenges him – and you serve beneath both of them. To satisfy them, to care for and love them, to meet their every craving with enthusiasm; you’d taken your vows kneeling, serious about this position in your life, and they’d linked the red leather strip around the length of your neck, securing it with a tiny lock at the back. Both men carried a key.</p><p>What had you done now? You’d taken Geralt’s bacon at breakfast cheekily. You’d winked slyly at a stranger who was ogling you at market. You’d forgotten to sew a button that Geralt had asked you to back onto his shirt. All of these were minor transgressions that would see you spanked or otherwise lightly punished; for the life of you, you had <em>no idea</em> what lesson you were being taught now.</p><p>“I… was ba-<em>aad!</em>” You repeat, pinching your teeth together and letting your cheek press into the leather as Jaskier’s touch feathers across your engorged, slick clit. He chuckles when your body jolts at the small touch.</p><p>“He asked you <em>how,</em> little pet.” Geralt directs firmly, and you bite your lower lip. Both of their nicknames for you always make you giddy.</p><p>“Think <em>hard.</em>” Jaskier whispers, stroking your spine, before soundly slapping the cheek of your bum with a force that makes you squeak; his hand-print sings on your flesh. “Think water. Think the docks.”</p><p>With a rush of realisation you remember the middle of the day. Both Geralt and Jaskier had been occupied with the inn-keeper, making requests of the room. Absently, you’d seen the shine of the ocean out of the window, and had stepped outside to get a better look. You hadn’t wandered <em>very</em> far, only to the edge of the dock, but there you had conversed with a sailor. He’d asked you where you were from, had told you where he’d been; you were all smiles and giggles when he tried to insist that he’d slain a siren. Geralt would find him ridiculous, you had thought. After that, you’d trotted back to the inn, to the men who were still arguing over the cost of wine – the keeper was trying to rob you all blind, aware that Witchers had coin to spend – and you’d thought nothing of the stolen moment.</p><p>You’d wandered out of sight in a new town.</p><p>Talked to a stranger alone.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, fuck.</em>
</p><p>Jaskier notes the widening of your eyes and chuckles, pressing a kiss to the place he’d just struck with an open palm. “Ahh, <em>there</em> it is. She’s with us now, Ger’.”</p><p>“So she is.” The Witcher agrees, rising from where he’d been sitting like a prince surveying his domain, enjoying the sight of Jaskier toying with you.</p><p>“Forgive me.” You immediately turn to press your forehead into the leather, as best a bow as you can make in your position, “I wandered in a new place. I was unsafe.”</p><p>You’re unprepared for Jaskier’s hard suckle upon your clit, and it makes you bite off a hard scream; he’s not there for long, and you’re wracked with the feeling, your mind unspooling like a seamstress’ bobbin in the paws of a kitten. “You <em>were.</em>” The bard confirms; you feel his hot breath on your hypersensitive folds and try not to move, try to resist the rock your body wants to adopt.</p><p>Geralt is at your head; you feel it, rather than see it, considering your hidden face. The sound of his buckle clicking undone is loud, the slow pull of it through the fetter, and you squeeze your eyes closed. Begging now would be a mistake, even if your entire body is screaming for you to.</p><p>“Look up, pet.” The Witcher instructs, and you obey, meeting the hard-set line of his mouth with your gaze. “To my eyes.” He gives you permission, and you raise it further, seeing the tempest of emotion that swirls in a firelight-licked shine, the precious glittering of a threat. Anger twists with lust around his cat-slit pupil, and you feel your nipples pucker harder against the saddle you’re strapped to. He’s unlacing his breeches, freeing his cock, but you don’t dare to break the gaze. With trained obedience, you simply part your lips in invitation, waiting. You’re privy to the briefest quirk of a smile before he pushes his thick head into your mouth, slowly, letting you relax and adjust as he does. His stare becomes hazy as you skillfully suckle him, and only when he lets his head roll back do you break eye contact.</p><p>“Fuck, but she has the <em>sweetest mouth,</em> Jaskier.” Geralt groans, as the bard watches you servicing him with a devilish smirk. Strings of your saliva drip to the ground as he begins a languid pace, fucking your face, aware of how deeply you’re able to take the huge length of him. Jaskier licks his lips.</p><p>“Don’t I know it, love.” He grins at his mate, as he returns to your backside. “But her little cunt? Gods above, it’s <em>so</em> swollen and fucked-out. How many strokes do you think it’ll take to make her come?” The words make you moan, sending the vibration up Geralt’s shaft, and he returns the sound.</p><p>“One, <em>mmm,</em> maybe two. Such a <em>slut </em>for it.” The Witcher chuckles, threading a huge hand into your hair to pull at the roots, quickening his pace for a moment. You swallow the salty beads of his precome as he offers them to you, sometimes pulling away to stroke himself and paint your lower lip with the glistening drips. Every time, you whisper,<em> “Thank you</em>.”</p><p>“I think she’s more resilient than that.” You can feel Jaskier’s cock-head nudging your aching entrance, and it takes all of your restraint not to rock away from Geralt. “Four, I think.”</p><p>“Ten orens says you’re wrong.” The Witcher bets, thrusting a little deeper into the cuddle of your throat, gauging your response; readily, you accept him.</p><p>“I’ll take that.” The bard sharply retorts, at the same time his hands circle the snatch of your waist. He takes you to the hilt with one fierce, sharp thrust, the slap of his balls against your fuck-slick lips pure <em>filth</em>; you want to be good, want to last, but as he starts to withdraw, you completely lose all control.</p><p>As the ridge of his dick grazes the rough nerves he’s been teasing ruthlessly, your cunt collapses in a vice-squeeze of rhythm as you suffer an orgasm so intense that Geralt is forced to withdraw from your mouth because you’re <em>screaming</em>, pushing backwards into Jaskier as hard as you can, straining your ropes enough to blossom violet bruises at your wrists. The bard snarls at the feeling of it, the wash of your juices soaking his breeches and dripping down his balls; he fucks you through the pulses, forcing you to ride the euphoria until it begins to string into pain, thoroughly enjoying the milk of your muscles. Geralt watches, stroking himself, his quiet laughter advertising his glee at having won the simple bet. For your part, you can’t think of anything except the ache in your belly and the foal-like shivering of your limbs.</p><p>“<em>Damn it,</em>” Jaskier pants, stilling for a moment; you’re limp and recovering on the saddle with him still inside of you, “Thought she’d hold.”</p><p>“You forget the skill of your fingers, dove.” Geralt reminds, nudging your lips with his cock again, reminding you that you’re still there for their pleasure. You take him again eagerly, and he’s slow, aware you’re catching your breath and senses.</p><p>“So <em>sweet to me</em> when you want to be, love.” The bard grins at Geralt, finding a rhythm with his mate that is absolute drawn-out filth; he grinds into you when Geralt withdraws, and vice-versa. Between them, you’ve become a toy, their helpless plaything, flesh for their satisfaction, and the lewdness of it makes you prickle with heat and desire.</p><p>“I’m always– <em>fuck–</em> sweet.” Geralt growls, gripping your hair tighter when you take him deeper, the concave curve of your cheeks the sweetest sight for him to observe from his position of dominance as your nose nudges the fine silver of his pubes. You feel him thickening in your throat, feel the quick of his pulse in the veins of his dick, and you know they’re going to come in both ends of you. The thought <em>alone</em> brings you to a second peak, and your eyes roll back as you moan around the Witcher’s flesh, drooling, your abused walls a slick grip on Jaskier. He’s panting, and through the shiver of your folds, you can feel how close he is, too.</p><p>“Fuck, <em>fuck</em>, she’s too tight, <em>Gods,</em>” The bard chants, clawing a hand down your back, doing his best to maintain control as you lose your own around him. “I can’t– she <em>feels too good.</em>” Geralt growls, and you ready yourself for the splash of his seed – only to lose his length with a <em>pop</em> of your lips, allowing you to pant, but leaving you utterly confused and lost.</p><p>“I want to come in her cunt.” He’s behind you, pushing against Jaskier, asserting his authority and his need to feel what the bard is feeling. Unfortunately, the other man is climbing his own peak, unable to relinquish the perfect heat of you without a fight, unwilling to obey and share.</p><p>“<em>Fuck off.</em>” Jaskier bites out, groaning, as you feel his cock begin to slip from you. There’s a flash of pain as they rub together, Geralt’s larger length stretching you, but even in the grip of a jealous oncoming orgasm, they wouldn’t hurt you. They’re growling behind you, vying for your entrance that is swollen and sore; as Geralt’s spit-slick dick slips in friction against Jaskier’s, the bard is overcome, pushed beyond limit.</p><p>“Gods, <em>fuuuck!</em>” He howls, as his come bursts from his reddened tip in thick ribbons, shallowly flooding you when it hits your hole, painting your folds in stripes and drizzling onto Geralt. The Witcher is now helpless under the stroke of the extra lubrication and the sight of Jaskier spilling, and his own orgasm thunders through him. You’re privy to his primal roar, the sensation of two thick loads drowning your cunt as they trade little nudges into you, hands all over you in the grip and drip of a messy, blissful torrent. Without needing stimulation, you give yourself over to the fever of a third climax, the drip of seed from your strung-out body too tempting a treat for you to resist. For a long time the trio of you remain there, the men hunched over your body, you sucking in frantic breath for recovery, the bask of a feral fuck temporarily sated.</p><p>“<em>So</em> pretty.” You hear Jaskier’s voice slur, the bard intoxicated by the sight of your swollen slit so generously decorated by them.</p><p>“Told you she was a <em>slut for it.</em>” Geralt sighs, and you hear the two kiss behind you. You want to whimper, but you know better.</p><p>“As if I didn’t <em>know,</em> love.” Jaskier trills, before he crouches to undo your bindings. For the first time you feel the ache at your ankles and wrists, but you’re too fuck-drunk to really care; when you’re released entirely, you lay limply on the saddle, a ragdoll.</p><p>“Did so well, little pet.” Geralt tells you, stroking your hair. You make a soft sound of thanks, craning your head to look up at him. He’s still hard. You know you must still be of use. Witcher stamina is a blessing and a curse that you navigate daily.</p><p>He’s surprised when you push yourself off the saddle shakily; at first you tumble gracelessly to the floor, but before he can help you, you’re kneeling in front him. To reach his cock you must sit up on your knees, and your thighs are trembling, but you find the strength. Reaching between your legs, you gather some of the mixed mess of your releases on your fingers, and smear it between your breasts, pushing them together in offering for him to use, if he so chooses.</p><p>The smile he gifts you is a dark thing, a pearly glint of tyrannical glee. “<em><b>Good girl.</b></em>” He rumbles, the two words that make you melt every time – and doesn’t he know it – and you return his smile, begging at his legs like a pup.</p><p>He slips the tip of his cock between that slick valley offered, and you squeeze around him, providing friction for him to take his pleasure from. The head of his dick peeks between your cleavage, and you dart your tongue down to flick it, tasting salt and sweat. He moans openly, letting the sound bleed from his lips, his rut of your breasts propelled by powerful hips. Jaskier watches with hooded eyes, hardening again at the erotic sight. You feel him move behind you, feel him nudge between your thighs. He uses the juicy drip there, and the press of your flesh to pleasure himself; his cock glides across your buzzing cunt, but does not enter. You whimper at the feeling, and are grateful for his strength as he holds you for Geralt.</p><p>“To whom do you<em> belong?</em>” His panting at your ear makes you want to keen.</p><p>“T-to <em>you</em>. To M-master… <em>Geralt.</em>” You affirm, letting a string of saliva drip from your open mouth to pool at Geralt’s pistoning dick, providing further silky slip. It’s too good, it’s <em>so good;</em> you fear you’re going mad.</p><p>“You won’t leave us again.” Geralt’s voice is the predatory bass it always is just before he’s going to climax, and you shake your head.</p><p>“Use your <em>words,</em> darling heart.” Jaskier chides, groaning, throbbing between your legs.</p><p>“<em>Never!</em>” You swear, the shivers that wrack your body beyond your control, threatening to shake your nerves apart, split them like ripe summer peaches unpicked.</p><p>Geralt’s cock throbs at the base of your neck as he stills himself, his massive body heaving with his second release; it shoots under your chin, pools at your clavicle, pours in a sticky wave down your tits to drip from your nipples. Jaskier isn’t far behind; the sound of Geralt’s orgasm never fails to thrill him, and he holds you to his body as he spends his load on the Witcher’s calves, the floorboards, between your already dirty thighs. You find yourself dizzy with the noise of their mixed euphoria, hot with pride that <em>you’ve</em> made them feel this way, and you rock the last of their release from them as best you can.</p><p>When Jaskier collapses, he pulls you back with him, reclining and offering a place for you to truly rest. Geralt sinks to the floor, too, collecting your legs in his lap, and in their embrace, you feel like you’re floating. They stroke you with soft reverence, with little coos and purrs, dripping sweet nothings onto you for your mind to devour with greed.</p><p>Clarity fizzes into your eyes with a slow bubble, like a kettle-boil, and Geralt notes it with a smile. Jaskier is smoothing your hair from your sweat-beaded features. “Are you hurting anywhere, little pet?” The Witcher questions, and you flex your body, feeling.</p><p>“Ankles and wrists.” You admit, knowing that it’s not weakness to tell them. Geralt nods, taking your hands and inspecting them, kissing your fingers.</p><p>“We’ll have a bath drawn, darling heart,” Jaskier murmurs, “For you are<em> far</em> too filthy for the bed.” You giggle, and feel him join in, the rise and fall of his chest.</p><p>“I’ll put balm on these bruises after.” Geralt promises, satisfied that you’re not suffering any extreme damage. You nod your consent, and make a soft trill of delight as the two men kiss over you, and then take turns with you, the gentle gestures filled with affection.</p><p>“I love you.” You confess, blinking up at them, all supported and spoiled in their joint embrace.</p><p>“As we love you.” Jaskier tells you, brushing your lips with the pad of his thumb. Geralt hums his agreement, and beneath their strong hands, you <em>glow.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I can also be found on tumblr: @inber</p></blockquote></div></div>
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